


First Dance

by Coppelia



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Drabble, M/M, Romance, possessive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 14:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coppelia/pseuds/Coppelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first time Fakir saw Mytho dance, he thought him a feast for his eyes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Dance

The first time Fakir saw Mytho dance, he thought him a feast for his eyes.

Fakir was fifteen then and seriously considering enrolling himself and Mytho into the Kinkan Ballet Academy. He had gotten the idea reading, for the first time since his childhood, _The Prince and the Raven_ again, where a few sentences he might not have captured as a child flourished under his older, careful eye. Drosselmeyer detailed how, in a dance before Princess Tutu confessed her love and disappeared in a flash of light, Prince Siegfried matched her elegance in a pas de deux so that they appeared as swans fluttering on a lake. The wheels turning in his head, aware of his own fate as a knight all the while, Fakir brought Mytho to the abandoned lake edge, where the latter executed ballet as though he were a natural, as though he hadn't not been taught at all, as though he had done it for an eternity.

Fakir might have fallen in love before then, but he realized it for himself when Mytho finished into a gentle bend. The two stood there frozen for what felt like hours as Fakir stared, masking his face with rigidness despite the rich flower blooming in his chest. Mytho's dance matched his appearance: cold, fragile, and doll-like, and yet there existed the softness of compassion underneath. Fakir's gaze turned into appraisal; a hunger for possession rumbled deep within him. At first, confusion spurned beside this new obsession, and for those several minutes, Fakir struggled behind his firm exterior, attempting to understand his emotions.

It didn't matter, he told himself. Mytho didn't have to involve himself with anybody else anymore, and nobody could do a damn thing about it.

As though he'd hit his head and earned temporary amnesia, Fakir blinked when the next second he found his tongue tracing Mytho's collarbone. The moments between moving from his previous spot to finding himself seducing Mytho against a tree were so lost to him, it was as though more time hadn't passed at all, as though one second he stood somewhere, then the next the earth had transported him to his current position. In this way, Fakir glimpsed his animal desires - his fixation for control, - but could not identify the trait. He simply rooted his feet in the grass, allowing his body to push Mytho so deep into the trunk of the tree that the back of his doll's head ached, and sucked his skin dry until his doll moaned.


End file.
